Chrysalis
by Miso Ramen-sama
Summary: While thinking up a punishment for Murtagh in Gil'ead, Eragon's been kidnapped and taken to the Empire. Not that he was going to make it easy for anyone. Dragons are inherently wild, after all. Post-Eldest. Yes, it's E x M.
1. Chapter 1

**Miso: **This is a revamp of the original story called "**M**etamorphosis."

A/N's has been cut out. Don't want the feds on top of me. :/

**Disclaimer:** Not mine.

**Warnings:** None for this chapter.

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**Chrysalis  
Chapter 1**

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Perhaps it was fate that had handed him her deck of cards.

Maybe there was no one else. Maybe he had already been hand chosen. Maybe he had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or perhaps it was just plain magic or luck, though if anyone could call it luck must clearly be addled. He hadn't seen it as fortunate.

Either way, Eragon would never have expected things to turn out the way they had.

Flashes of pain, of writhing on the ground as his body fell off the wall and _burned_. Glaedr's Eldunarí followed his descent but luckily hadn't broken, having fallen on a soft bed of grass as he bucked and screamed.

Hands desperately tried to hold him down. Voices asked for him to stop, to _breathe_. But the pain was excruciating and practically _ripped through him _like claws.

Looking back on it, the bastards were probably trying to make this as painful as possible.

Blood coated his tongue and maybe he had broken a few bones as well—because everytime he inhaled there was a stabbing pain in his side—but he couldn't have been sure under the blanket of torture.

Someone lifted and carried him to his tent where they'd placed a cool rag on his forehead. His breathing was ragged and his skin had become clammy with sweat. It was like a fever with no break. Heat suffused his body until he was shivering from an unknown illness. The stiff cot did nothing to alleviate the pain either but at least it was… partially bearable to hear the soothing tones of people around him.

Arya had been there. As well as Nasuada. Was Roran? He couldn't be sure but he was vaguely aware of someone asking if he was alright in a deep timbre and he doubted the two females had suddenly turned into Urgals.

Saphira's consistently, comforting presence had been all he could really rely on. He remembered the subtle shift in his mind that told him she was there, the soothing sound of her deep humming. She tried reaching for him on more than one occasion but Eragon's mind was as slippery as an eel and he could no more communicate with her if he was drugged.

At some point he became aware of the rattle of armor outside, the low murmurs, though he continued to drift in and out of consciousness.

The first time he came around, someone had lifted his head to pour water down his throat; the second was someone at his bedside talking, though they sounded as if they were underwater. He was delirious. The third time he even swore he came back to the scent of chamomile and saffron and Angela muttering over his prone form. However, what she said was completely lost to him. Which wasn't a surprise. The woman was one big mystery and he had no doubt that whatever she was saying would have baffled him anyhow.

He didn't know how many days had gone past but he was disoriented when he finally came to. The first thing he noticed was the ceiling of his tent, a pale brown, bleached by the sun with a rod upholding it from the middle. Eragon tried to move but groaned at the discomfort of his stiff limbs. Sitting up only made it worse. He recalled having to hold his head to keep from passing out again when the interior of the tent swam.

His vision was blurry at best but as the flap opened he was nearly blinded by the sun reflecting off the dirt outside.

"You're finally awake," came the familiar voice of Arya. The light behind his eyelids dissipated.

Eragon squinted open his eyes. He was still able to make out her fuzzy profile in the shade of his living quarters despite the spots dancing before his vision.

He grunted, closing his eyes against the nausea building to the back of his throat. He wanted to gag. It didn't help that there was already the scent of vomit permeating his senses.

"How… how long was I out?" He swallowed. Speaking was a chore. His throat had been left raw and so his voice had come out as nothing more than a rasp.

"Here."

Eragon opened his eyes again. Before him, Arya held a canteen of water at his lips. Taking the proffered drink, he practically gulped down the cool liquid, swallowing mouthfuls to relieve the parched, sticky muscles of his throat. When he was finished, he set the canteen aside and couldn't resist leaning back on his pillow with an arm thrown over his face. He was so tired.

"You've been asleep for nearly a week," Arya answered his question. She was somewhere to the side. There was a _creak_, Arya having probably sat down on a chair but he didn't bother to look. Turning his head only made him dizzy.

Eragon groaned. A week? It felt more like forever, the darkness of his unconscious mind seeming endless enough to make him wonder if he was still alive.

"You suddenly collapsed outside of Feinster's wall," she had told him. "I thought perhaps you were being attacked by a spellcaster but now…"

Her voice had sounded strange, but at the time Eragon was too drained to properly care. All he'd wanted was sleep but he'd been out of commission for so long it was a surprise Murtagh hadn't come himself and lay waste to the encampment. He had not been present for the siege of Feinster but there was no telling what the despicable red Rider was planning.

Saphira then came to mind. Where was she? He had thought perhaps that when he woke up, she would be the first to greet him but it was disappointment waiting at the door. What happened to her? Exhaustion was eating away at him but his concern for his beloved mount was great enough to keep him conscious to hear news of her whereabouts. "Saphira…"

"Is safe," Arya finished for him. "She and Blödhgarm are perusing the perimeter of the camp. She didn't want to go." The elf laughed, a soft tinkling sound. "However, duty called. She should be back soon, though." A pause, before her voice came out slowly and carefully: "How are you feeling, Eragon?"

"Like Galbatorix himself came and skewered me," he murmured after a thought, earning a soft, tight chuckle from his elven companion.

"It is an assessment I would rather not entertain."

"Sorry," was his sheepish reply, removing his arm from his eyes.

"Do not apologize. The thought is unsavory, but it's not my say to tell you what you've endured this past week."

"I suppose I'm still groggy from sleeping for so long," he said, amending his previous statement. "I'm tired enough to want to do it again."

"Come now, you've been asleep for long enough," came her cajoling tone. "It's high time you got up to let the Varden know you're alive and well."

"Aye, aye." He said, waving a formless hand before sitting up and realizing something. He turned to her, watching as the elf woman gathered up Brisingr lying across a small table. "Arya, why are you here?" With Feinster having been taken under siege, he'd thought the elf would have been with Nasuada, seeing to her safety or at least, rooting out the rest of the Empire's men with the Varden. Not that he didn't want her around. On the contrary, her presence was most desirable but sometimes things were too hectic for even him to squander any time alone with the elf.

"I was asked to."

"By whom?"

"…Nasuada." But her tone was hesitant.

"Why? I have enough guards to look as if I was part of the royal court!" he joked, eyeing her curiously. Which _technically_ he was, considering how high in stature his title of 'Rider' had made him.

Turning, she smiled, giving him a playful grin in return. "Do you not want me here, Eragon?"

For a moment, he was stunned. First because she was _playing_ with him and second because she looked so gorgeous with that smile. He shook his head vigorously as the meaning of her words sank in. "N-no! I didn't say that! I just thought… perhaps you would have been too busy… protecting Nasuada, I guess." A poor defense. But he was too flustered by her sudden playfulness to come up with anything better.

Arya tilted her head. "She has Elva."

Eragon flinched, mood gone, licking his lips. "Oh. Right. I forgot."

She stared at him, gazing long enough for Eragon to grow nervous. He didn't know why, but the look in her gaze was something akin to… pity and… regret?

But then Arya shook her head and the emotions were gone, so Eragon couldn't be too sure what he'd seen. "I didn't come here out of duty, Eragon. Nasuada may have sent me, but I came as a friend to see to your wellbeing."

"Oh." He blushed. So that was it. "Forgive me."

She shook her head, smile small and soft now. "It's nothing to be repentant about."

The sound of a thud outside caught their attention then and for a brief moment Eragon thought it was Thorn bringing Murtagh to finish what he'd started at the Burning Plains. He even tensed as heavy thumping hurried toward his tent, the sound of people crying out and running to avoid getting trampled, before a distinctive blue head thrust through the panel made for her above him.

Bewildered, he stared with wide eyes. _Saphira…?_

_Eragon! _She cried, causing a dull thumping to form in his temples. _Oh, thank goodness! You're awake! Didn't you hear me calling?_

_I heard you've replaced me, _he rebutted. But tiredly, he managed a small smile. He hadn't even sensed her approach, but it was a relief to know that Saphira was fine. He was afraid that whatever had happened to him had extended to her as well.

She snorted but her voice had softened. _Don't be ridiculous. It was only necessary. _

_Right_, he replied unbelievingly and pretended to be hurt.

Saphira ignored him, sniffing at the top of his head. _If you could be so playful at this time, then surely you must be better_.

He laughed. Then he reached up to touch her snout, rubbing his fingers against the rough ridges of her scales. _I've missed you, Saphira. I was unconscious for a very long time, but I knew you were there. I just couldn't reach you. How have you been?_

_I should be asking _you _that_, she said, her eyes warm. She nuzzled into his hand. _How are you feeling?_

He told her the same thing he'd told Arya but she was far less inclined to appreciate his humor than the elf. Eragon shrugged it away. Saphira was practically the other part of his soul, after all, and probably knew better what he'd gone through to just be able to shrug it off so easily. Honestly, he didn't know what else to tell her without adding on to her worry.

_It's too late for that, little one._ Her words were whispered as she breathed a gust of warm air on his head.

Maybe that should have tipped him off that something was wrong. Arya and Saphira were being strangely censored, but he could only suspect they were worried he would fall into another fit. It certainly was frightening enough to think about. He would rather battle a herd of Urgals _plus_ Murtagh than to be subjected to that kind of pain again. It was reminiscent of the scar he'd once had reaching from shoulder to hip before the Agaetí Blödhren. And that brokered no fond memories from the newly recovered Rider.

There wasn't any time to ponder over it anyhow.

The flap opened again, but this time Eragon had heard the loud footfalls long before they'd reached the entrance to his tent. Arya was an elf and so her light approach had gone unnoticed while he was still disoriented but Roran walked as if he was marching with drums tied to his feet.

"Eragon!" His voice was as loud as Horst's, too.

"Roran," Eragon greeted evenly but wasn't any less content about his visit.

His eyes roved over his cousin's face. Besides a scrape on his cheek, Roran looked well. It had only been a week, but somehow the Rider missed his cousin already. He didn't think he'd be able to live through that tortuous ordeal and had wanted to at least give his last family relative his farewells. Dramatic as it was, it wouldn't have felt right not doing so.

Beside him, Saphira gave a displeased sound that said she wouldn't have let that happen, either way.

The sound alerted Roran to her presence, dipping his head respectfully in her direction. "Hello, Saphira."

Saphira gave a small dip of her own to acknowledge his greeting. _Hello, Roran._

Arya excused herself then to head outside. She didn't go far. He could sense her standing at the entrance along with six other guards. That surprised Eragon but he supposed Nasuada wouldn't have allowed him to go unprotected while he was in a weakened state despite the elves sent by Islanzadí.

Roran seated himself at the chair once Arya had vacated it. He folded his arms over his chest before asking, "How are you feeling, Eragon?"

Eragon frowned. He was the third person to ask. And while his cousin's concern was not unwarranted, the question was starting to get a bit… intrusive. "Fine," he said slowly, watching the blond fidget under his gaze. "Why?"

Roran shrugged carelessly, but there was a curious look to his eyes that said otherwise. "You are my brother. Can I not be concerned?"

He was deliberately evading the question, but Eragon said nothing about it. "I suppose… How did you know I was awake?"

Roran shifted uncomfortably. "One of your… spellcasters... They sent a message through their… mental link? It's still uncomfortable, by the way. I'm working on shielding my thoughts better, but to have a person romping around inside your head…"

Eragon knew the feeling. When Saphira had hatched for him and he became her Rider, he was unsettled by the disembodied voice in his head the first time she'd spoken to him.

Saphira snorted and nudged him gently, taking keen offense to his thoughts. Grinning, Eragon patted her nose. _It's the truth!_

_Disembodied voice? _She asked, sounding scandalized._ I'm hardly anything intangible!_

_Well, you can't exactly blame me for not knowing any better!_

But that was strange. Usually Nasuada would be the first informed of his recovery. Du Vrangr Gata had no other such loyalties but to him and the Varden woman so he doubted they would have listened to anyone else. He told his cousin as such, watching as the man rubbed at his neck.

"Ah, I sort of told Arya to have me informed as soon as you wake up if I'm not on any missions." He shrugged and folded his arms again. "I'd just happened to have returned from a raid. I was nearby when I was told."

"I see," Eragon replied, hiding a small smile. "How is Katrina?"

Roran smiled then, causing his beard to dip into the dimples of his cheeks. "She is fine. The baby isn't due until some weeks but she's stronger than me at times. She's worried for you. She wasn't able to come see you but she sends her regards on a fast recovery."

Eragon smiled.

Arya returned, pushing the flap aside to say, "Nasuada wishes to see you, Eragon," tilting her head thoughtfully as she added, "And Roran, you may come as well if you're not busy at the moment."

Roran jumped from the chair. "No. I shall go. I have to report to Lady Nasuada, anyway."

The bed creaked harshly underneath Eragon as he shifted to stand. The loud noise made him grimace, leaving a sharp ringing in his ears that had him reaching up to massage the left side of his face. Cursing, he stood only for the world to suddenly zoom in. He tipped over, arms flailing to catch himself.

An arm caught his before he could hit the ground. Roran helped him to stand, offering himself as a crutch until he was able to reorient himself and the world was no longer in such magnetized focus.

When he opened his eyes again, he blinked, surprised to find a blue cloak in Arya's arms as she held it out for him.

"You should put this on," she instructed, and to his surprise she looked _nervous!_ Arya! Nervous! He tried furtively to catch her eyes but the forest green irises refused to meet his gaze.

Warily, he took the cloak from her hands, Roran having let go of his arm, and unfurled the material, pulling it over his shoulders. The cloak was a perfect fit, tail ends reaching just at his ankles with sleeves that reached past his wrists.

He let out a surprised sound as the hood was pulled over his head. "Hey!"

"Leave it this way, Eragon," he heard Arya say. "It's for the best."

Perturbed, Eragon tilted his head back to look at the elf but she was already leading the way outside. He turned to look at Roran next. But even his cousin refused to meet his gaze! Frustrated, Eragon then turned to Saphira for answers only to find that she, too, had already left, the panel in which her head was poking through bereft. Eragon growled, following Arya with Roran at his heels.

Saphira was already waiting outside as they exited his tent. Eragon had to shield his eyes as her scales glittered blindingly in the sunlight, sending rays of fractured blue light to dot along the ground and surrounding tents. It _hurt_ to look at her for a while.

_Saphira, what is going on?_ He asked her, dropping his hand from his eyes once they'd adjusted.

_In due time_, was her reply.

_What? _But she wouldn't respond. He tried to read her thoughts but they were frustratingly blocked. Then and there, Eragon was tempted to stop the lot of them, to demand answers. They were all acting odd! Eragon did not want to go any further without being told what exactly was going on. However, the crowd of people standing around and _watching_ him had the youth refraining from doing anything foolish. He wanted answers but he was not about to act like a child to get them.

The guards standing outside his tent surrounded him on both sides and, with Arya to his right and Roran his left, Saphira trailing not far behind, they headed toward the large red pavilion, otherwise known as Nasuada's headquarters.

All the while Eragon couldn't help the sweat rolling down his face. The crowd of people, both dwarf and human alike—and perhaps there were Urgals, too—were watching him closely. They'd parted to create a long path, trying to peer into the darkness of his given cloak to see his face. But while he was tempted to throw the hood off—there was no reason for him to have it on—and alleviate their worries, Roran's hand on his shoulder prevented from him doing so. He squeezed it as if in quiet support but it was Arya holding his hand that disquieted Eragon.

What was going on?

It didn't take long for them to reach the large red and white tent but to Eragon it felt like more than an hour had gone by.

One of the dwarves banged their chest plate in a loud announcement of their arrival, and while the six guards surrounding them all dispersed to border the perimeter of the pavilion, Eragon was led inside, the teen pushing the hood away from his face.

At her desk sat Nasuada, in the throes of a serious debate with one of her advisors that stood stooped beside her chair in a white smock and tightly woven hood. Their furious whispers met his ears and the teen could make out words like 'dragon' and 'manage' but could no more discern what they meant than if he were to be presented with one of Angela's recitals of the very different uses of her strange findings.

Arya politely cleared her throat to interrupt the two and they jumped in response, turning their attentions sharply on the group gathered before them.

"Ah, Eragon, Roran"—Saphira poked her head inside—"And Saphira. You're here. I was expecting you. Thank you, Arya, for bringing them." Nasuada turned her head then to the advisor behind her who was giving Eragon the most pompous look he'd ever seen on a human's face. He was looking down his long nose at him as if he'd found something particularly disgusting on the sole of his shoe!

Eragon frowned in response—he'd never done anything to the man to initiate such a response—but Nasuada was already waving the man away, "If you would excuse us then, advisor, I have more _important_ matters to attend to."

The advisor, to Eragon's carefully concealed satisfaction, bristled at the brusque dismissal but marched angrily from the tent all the same, sending a contemptuous look toward Eragon on his way. It left an uncomfortable stillness in his wake.

Beside him, Roran had stiffened at the rudeness of the other man and even Arya, as parsimonious with her emotions as she was, had tightened her hold on his hand in a rare demonstration of anger.

It was Nasuada, with an authoritative voice that yet yielded a tone of friendliness, whom managed to assuage the tension that had gathered in the tent.

"Please forgive his abruptness," she said. "He and I had a slight disagreement and thought to lash out at anyone else at close range." That was an understatement, Eragon thought. Even he could see the tight reign Nasuada barely had on her emotions by the prominent veins in her hands and he wondered what the argument was about.

Eragon stepped forward. Arya had already let go of his hand and Roran stood silently behind him. "You summoned me, mi'lady?"

Nasuada nodded, looking directly at him. "I had heard that you had awoken not too long ago, Eragon. You've been asleep for nearly a week."

Eragon blushed. Did _everyone_ have to bring that up? "Yes, that is what appears to have happened," he murmured.

Nasuada smiled, letting out a small chuckle as she stood. "Don't look so contrite. It wasn't so long ago that you'd recovered from that shocking bout of illness. It's understandable why you would have preferred to sleep it off."

She stepped around her desk then to approach him. Eragon waited patiently when she stopped before him but was no less nervous by her intense scrutiny than he was about the crowd still waiting outside. Her eyes never stayed in one place but what most caught his attention was how she refused to meet his eyes.

When she finally stepped back, it appeared she was satisfied with what she had seen and folded her arms in front of her, frowning. "So this is what you meant, Arya. Yes, I do suppose this will pose a problem in terms of being accepted."

Eragon was confused. He frowned, furrowing his brows. "What?"

"Is there nothing that can be done?" Nasuada continued to address Arya to Eragon's annoyance.

Arya shook her head, looking so remorseful as she looked at him that Eragon would have had the urge to reach for her hand again had he not been so perplexed. "Nothing that I'm sure I can do without permanently damaging him. This goes way back to the ancient magic and as a result, way beyond my abilities. Perhaps my mother may have an idea, but…"

She didn't need to continue. Nasuada nodded in agreement. "Queen Islanzadí may have agreed to help us in this war, but I can't imagine she would do this, in particular, for free."

"What are you two talking about?"

"Have you not seen yet, Eragon?" Nasuada asked, faltering. She gave Roran a frown and from behind him, Eragon heard the man shift uncomfortably.

"Seen what?" he asked, turning a piercing gaze on his cousin.

Roran licked his lips. Once. Twice. But his voice seemed to fail him in the end and his head hung in shame.

Okay, that's it. Saphira was his partner and he was used to her cryptic remarks that surfaced now and then but to have even Roran in on some form of secret that was clearly about him was plain getting to his patience. Eyes narrowed in suspicion at all of them, he growled, "What exactly is _going on_?"

His suspicion only grew when none of them answered his question, instead looking at each other as if urging the other to elucidate the situation. Even Saphira was likewise reluctant to let him in on whatever was going on in her head, though she hadn't relented in giving him a rueful stare.

_Finally_ Nasuada sighed, closing her eyes as if centering herself. Eragon stood with his arms folded over his chest, tapping his foot impatiently as he waited for her to speak.

"Do not panic, Eragon, but—"

His foot stopped. "What? What am I panicking about? I would like an explanation, Nasuada." In his temper—and mounting fear—he'd forgotten to add a respectable honorific but at the moment Eragon could care less about propriety.

Nasuada didn't appear to be affected, either. In fact, she looked understandable, resigned even. She kept a steady gaze on him before hesitantly raising a hand to point. "Look in the mirror."

Eragon glanced at said object that hung on the pole at the center of the tent. It was put there more for communication purposes between the other factions, obviously, but more than once Eragon would catch the woman standing before it, fixing her hair or adjusting her professionally tailored dresses. Framed in polished gold, the glass reflected the entirety of Nasuada's desk.

_Go on, _Saphira urged when Eragon hesitated.

Eyes flicking briefly toward her in puzzlement, he walked up to the pole.

He didn't know what to expect when he stood before the mirror. Perhaps warts had grown on his face, warped somehow as a result of his 'illness,' but then they wouldn't be acting strangely if it was something so inane. He then thought he'd suffered an injury and it left a scar. He'd fallen from very high, after all. He'd probably landed on a rock or cut himself accidentally on his sword.

He was expecting many possibilities but what he saw in his reflection was not one of them.

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Chapter end.

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**Miso: **Whoo, that took FOREVER. o.o Holy crap, I was wondering this was gonna finish. xD

P.s.: do you have any IDEA how hard it is to type without an 'm'?


	2. Chapter 2

**Chrysalis**

**Chapter 2**

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**Disclaimer:** If it were mine, I'd have been rich by now. Well, half way, anyway.  
**Warnings:** Gore? Swearing? Probably, probably none at all, or perhaps there's just little or perhaps there's a lot. Question is: can you stomach it? 8D

"You want me to what?" He asked incredulously, hand curling tightly around Brisingr. Saphira nudged him from behind, however, and he quickly released the hilt, folding his arms over his chest—if to just find something to do with his hands. He glared.

It's been two weeks since Eragon found out he'd been turned into this… something… and he has not felt any differently about his transformation than he did the first time looking into the mirror and seeing reptilian slits in iridescent-rainbow eyes. His hair had changed to a silver-white and scales mottled different patches of his skin; his nails had also grown sharp and his canines had lengthened to lethal points in his mouth, a detail he'd found out rather painfully after biting his lip.

He had been confused, and if not, a little bit scared. What did this mean? Why did this happen? But no amount of shouting at Glaedr's heart of hearts or pestering Arya any further would garner him any answers.

In truth, Eragon didn't know _how_ to feel about the whole transition. Yes, he admitted that it gave him extra abilities—he was swifter, his attacks more vicious, his senses heightened; all without the use of magic—but it also alienated him from the people he'd known practically all his life. The citizens of Carvahall were a superstitious lot, after all. It didn't help that he was always hanging around the elves, and they never had anything good to say about them.

Roran was an exception. But Roran was his cousin and the man wouldn't abandon him even if he started expelling smoke. Thankfully, that bit of himself hadn't come into part. Yet.

He had consulted Saphira about his change after leaving Nasuada, Arya, and the blond in the command pavilion. She had followed him on silent wings back to his tent and had watched as he paced, half-naked, from one end of his living quarters to the next. When asked, she herself didn't understand how he'd been transformed this way but revealed that Arya had a theory:

_The Agaetí Blödhren_.

_What? But that was weeks ago! How can that be affecting me_ now?

_The dragons are a vengeful race, Eragon. I suspect that their anger and hate for Galbatorix caused them to do more than just heal your scar. They were probably awaiting the right __moment to come._

Days after that were mostly a blur with him joining various raiding teams to clear the Varden pathway toward Dras Leona.

During the traveling, he'd been enduring the most terrifying visions in his waking sleep. Visions of blood and dragons, wings and necks torn with elves covering the ground like a second layer of soil.

That morning had not greeted Eragon well at all.

The sun had barely made it over the horizon, coloring the sky in Easter colors, when he'd been jerked awake, his waking sleep having been filled with one of his many nightmares.

The price for being one of _them_, Eragon shared their passion to see Galbatorix choking on the blade of Brisingr. It didn't satisfy them that they were just sitting around lying in wait. There were, of course, the raids to keep them occupied—and he was surprised by the bloodlust that took him over in battle—but even Eragon grew annoyed at the repetitive routine, no matter the essentiality.

This time it had been the Battle of the Forsworn. In it he had found Vervada, Saphira's mother, crawling determinedly over steaming blood to protect the leftover eggs she had stored in her cave. He didn't know whether or not she had made it, because then Galbatorix had chosen that moment to come hurtling at them, laughing from Shruikan's back like a madman. Iormúngr was nowhere to be seen.

He supposed they thought to give him an incentive of sorts with the wildish dreams. They certainly made him angry enough at times. But all it did was give Eragon headaches and restless nights.

Saphira and he had been silent when the messenger came. She had been with him in his dream and through which had been able to see her mother for the first time. The sight must have been shocking. Eragon knew more than anyone how the vision had rattled her. Her grief was potent enough to trickle through the link and as a person who's gone through the experience of never meeting his mother, Eragon wanted to soothe her. She would not admit her feelings on the matter, however, and he left her to silently deal with her own emotions, instead taking the time to eat his breakfast.

The messenger was young and had disheveled brown hair and wide, hazel eyes that belied his exhaustion at having woken up so early. He'd cowed under Eragon's gaze but nonetheless carried out his duty.

Nasuada wanted to meet with him. She had important matters to discuss but when asked, all the boy said was that Nasuada would inform him once he arrived. He dashed off, disappearing into the throng of soldiers milling about their tents after that.

Frowning, Eragon was hesitant to be among them. The Varden didn't at all seem affected by his unearthly appearance but he wondered if they ever noticed how they changed when within his presence. Even he was bothered by his own appearance and chose to keep the cloak that Arya had given him. It was strange seeing scales on his body when he was already used to seeing them on Saphira. The cloak hid them from view. If not from himself, then to at least spare himself the stares he received on occasion.

Despite that, though, Eragon was not about to let fear stop him from strolling through them to get to Nasuada's tent. With Saphira at his side, he ignored all their staring and bore the brunt of their whispers—_"Halfling,"_ they would call him, "_Man-dragon_, _Silverskin_, _Dragonborn,"—_until he was standing before the guards at the entrance flap.

Now here he was. But at the moment, Nasuada seemed too busy staring down at a map to notice that he was boring holes into her head. He wasn't fooled, however. Not only was Nasuada not unobservant but she was adept at being an actor.

Sometimes Eragon wondered—quite sarcastically—why she even took the mantle of being leader of the Varden when she was so damned good at fooling people.

Said woman looked up at him from her map. Beside her stood Arya in her leather leggings, sword at her hip, and to Nasuada's other side a middle-aged man who was missing three of his last fingers on his right hand. A long scar blemished the same forearm, starting from his wrist to the back of his elbow. His salt-and-pepper beard was trimmed and his eyes were a fierce, determined gray as he looked at the teen.

Before he'd arrived they were discussing areas in which the Empire's soldiers supposedly regrouped, debating how much men should be sent to dispose of them, the necessary amount of spellcasters needed, their current supplies, and eventually reverted back to the preparation of the oncoming battle with Dras-Leona. They had already claimed Belatona and now they were just miles from the black city, separated only by the expansive size of Leona Lake and a half league.

"I want you," Nasuada repeated slowly, pointing at him with her quill as if he were a particularly petulant child. Eragon tried not to let it annoy him. "To pass judgement—on Murtagh."

She wanted him to… to _punish_ Murtagh?

Wait.

"Murtagh had been _captured_?" That still didn't sit well with him. In the first place, the man was _powerful—_he'd made that clear enough at the Burning Plains. It seemed too unfeasible to even think that the other Rider could be so easily detained.

A small smile of satisfaction stretched Nasuada's lips. "Yes. He has. The elves managed to capture him alive after…" With a sidelong glance toward the two-fingered man, Nasuada continued, "Accomplishing his task. Apparently, he had no more strength left to fight." Then she marked something on the map. "That being said, you'll head to Gil'ead where Queen Islanzadí will wait for you."

Gil'ead! A distance that was no difficult task for Eragon to overcome, especially now that his stamina has improved. But the city was still too far away for his tastes. That was nearly more than a league away! What if the Varden came under attack? Saphira and he would be unable to cover the distance in time to help them.

Then there was the fact that he was going to Queen Islanzadí of all people. Why she needed his help in punishing Murtagh was beyond him. The elves' anger was discrete but potent enough to match a dragon's; he would assume that they would have desired to enact some form of vengeance on the man without assistance.

Eragon didn't voice any of his thoughts, however, he, too, flicking his gaze toward the other man. Alyward, Nasuada had introduced him. He was pretending to be uninterested in their conversation, copying marks on his own map from Nasuada, but the Rider didn't need any word of their dealings spreading amongst the Varden no matter how trustworthy they seemed. Eragon badly wished him gone. He was bubbling inside with too many questions.

Still, the issue of her protection was at large. "And what of you?"

"Me?" Nasuada blinked at him as if truly puzzled by his words. She dipped her quill in the pool of ink again. "What about me?"

"You would be without protection if you have me leave like this, Nasuada," he tried to explain, if a bit impatiently. "It's already bad enough that you have me continuously leave to go on these raids. What if something were to happen while I ventured off to Gil'ead? As far as it is."

"What, indeed," was Nasuada's cool reply as she scribbled on the map again. Eragon wanted to reach over and strangle her. When she straightened again, it was to replace the quill in its station and pour sand where she wrote so that the ink would dry. "There's nothing to worry about, Eragon. Murtagh and Thorn have already been captured and are guarded heavily. And as things have demonstrated, it is unlikely that Galbatorix would leave his castle anytime soon to attack us."

Eragon couldn't believe his ears. Surely not even Nasuada would be so naïve as to believe that! All now the madman was probably plotting ways to retrieve his only Rider back…

"But," she continued, smiling as if she'd read his thoughts. "I am not stupid enough to allow such chances to come to pass. I do not believe Galbatorix to sit still in his castle long enough for Murtagh to return on his own. No, you will leave Saphira here with the Varden and when time has come that you have decided upon a suitable punishment for Murtagh, she will travel over to Gil'ead and you will return with her just as quickly."

He should have expected that. It was the same with Orik's coronation. However, something about this screamed suspicion. Eragon just didn't know what, although it was at the tip of his frustrated fingers.

He let out a slow, inaudible breath, wanting to leave as soon as possible from the tent. "When do I leave?"

"Now, if you are ready. I would like you to take leave as soon as possible."

"I see," he replied, taking a step back toward the entrance. "Then I'll not waste anymore time."

"Please," Nasuada replied, nodding in acknowledgement. "Make this journey swift, Eragon. We will be facing Dras Leona's black gates the moment you return."

Eragon nodded. "As you wish, mi'lady." Saphira already having made her exit, he turned to do the same when Nasuada's voice held him back.

"Do not fret. There is still, of course, the elves and Arya. And the Nighthawks will not let one hair on my head harmed. Orrin and his men are not too far away stationed from the Varden, either. I am hardly being left undefended."

Eragon did not allow her to see the doubt in his eyes. He gave her a swift nod.

"Be safe."

With a quick, fleeting smile, he said, "of course," and left.

* * *

This time Eragon avoided the main path toward his tent altogether, instead circumventing to the back of the encampment where Leona Lake glistened in the sun. He already had everything he needed, and his morning breakfast should last him until he reached Gil'ead.

For now, he wanted some time alone with Saphira before he left and desired peace somewhere along the mercurial shore.

There was a tree atop a small mound that stood above the lake. Eragon climbed the grassy incline 'til he reached the top and leaned against the dark brown bark with a sigh. Saphira was less audible with her approach despite her bulk. She lay down and curled around the trunk of the tree where he was. She was just large enough that her tail could have gone around twice and probably a third time but she settled it gently at his feet in a semicircle. Her head came to rest near the tip of her tail as well, giving the impression of a large oroboros as she made herself comfortable.

Eragon looked at her, noticed her silence. She seemed unfazed by his whirling thoughts.

_You seem less troubled by these arrangements than I a__m__, _he told her.

_But I'm not_. _I only find it… necessary._

It was true. He could read her mind and saw that she didn't like the predicament anymore than he did. She was just more practical about it than he was.

_Perhaps… _Kneeling, Eragon reached out to place a delicate hand on her brow. Her scales were hard and warmed by the sun against his skin. She leaned against his touch but kept a straight, crystal blue eye on him. _But it still doesn't keep me from feeling uneasy at leaving your side,_ he finished with a fragile smile.

The blue of her eyes melted. _As it is for __me, but I trust you'll be quick enough about Murtagh's punishment_.

As he himself hoped he will be, but he rolled his eyes in mock offense. "How impatient of you."

Saphira snorted.

Eragon let his hands wander along the scales to the back of her head, watching as they gleamed in the patches of sunlight that sneaked through the gaps in the leaves overhead. By now his eyes were already used to the blinding blue so he was able to look at her without them burning out his irises.

Something happened that day he was turned into a Halfling; something that made his heart clench painfully in his chest when faced with the suggestion to leave Saphira behind.

Not that he hadn't already done so in the past.

He always had to leave Saphira with the Varden in order to join the raids. At first, he'd thought it was because Nasuada didn't think the raids would be as dangerous as a full-scale war. He'd had no idea then that it was because Murtagh was captured and was less likely to show up in any one of the short battles.

Either way, the distance was not for an extended period of time and he was always within a certain distance that still allowed them to communicate through a sustainable connection.

Now, however, he was going to Gil'ead and they would not be able to hear each other's voices for a time.

It made him a bit sour about the whole thing. He still couldn't see why Islanzadí would want _him_ to choose a punishment for Murtagh. Couldn't she choose one herself? Obviously, there had to be some ulterior motive hidden somewhere with the queen elf. Eragon just couldn't see it.

_It is a bit strange,_ Saphira agreed, having read his thoughts. _Not that we could deny the request._

_H__m_, Eragon grunted. _I just can't find the reason why she would want to see me other than my change of appearance. _They shared a look, sharing suspicions in the privacy of their shared link.

"I suppose I should be on my way then," he said, standing once more after a few minutes had passed by. For another minute they stood there, staring at each other. It was going to be last they'd see each other for a few days—if he can have his way, it would be two—and though he wasn't planning to prolong the departure, Eragon wanted this moment to last.

With a toss of her head and a lick of her sharp teeth, Saphira said, _Go on, then._

_In a rush to see me leave, eh_? Eragon responded, but he was already making his way down the incline at a jog. Leona Lake glistened brightly beside him as its waves licked at the pebbled shore.

In the distance, the city of Leona could be seen as a black smudge on a not too distant horizon. From here, he had no trouble making out thin columns of smoke rising from the sky. A little closer, tiny black dots that could only be birds flew in the sky, winking in and out as they disappeared between clouds.

Saphira snorted, standing up from her place still on the incline. Beside her the tree was minute compared to her ever-growing size. _Yes. If it will make the days go by swiftly, then yes. Get!_

His feet barely making a sound on the dirt, Eragon laughed and quickened his pace.

* * *

The fallen leaves beneath his feet barely '_crunch'_ed as he crept up on the Empire encampment. Their flag flapped lazily in the wind, but even from a distance Eragon had recognized the golden flame on a blood red background.

There were about a hundred men in total, and they all surrounded fires of their making, chatting and laughing as they ate a late afternoon lunch.

It made Eragon sick. They were in the middle of war and here the King's men were, breaking bread and enjoying themselves as if they hadn't a care in the world. He'd sensed them as he was running along the path generally taken by travelers. Two of their magicians had brushed his consciousness, but after concealing himself completely from their probing he was able to sneak in pass their defenses, killing the sentries that had stood guard on the beaten road.

Of course, he wasn't blind to their hardships. Mud caked their boots, calves, and armor and blood was smeared across some of them. Of those that were mostly clean, they were covered in sweat. Some were behind a couple days wash if the grime on their skin was evident enough.

Eragon curled his nose as the myriad of scents nearly made him gag. Along with enhanced sight, his sense of smell had also sharpened and the Rider found it a curse more than he found it a blessing.

Horses were picketed at the edge of the encampment. Their ears swiveled left and right as they nibbled at the grass. Eragon did his best not to call any of their attention. Animals were more prone to sensing danger and he was more predator than man at the moment as he stalked through the bushes and gauged the total number of men.

Eragon paused at the thought, bothered by the fact that he must appear more animal than man. He didn't need any more proof that the dragons had altered him beyond anything sentient yet at times the truth would slap him in the face at the wrong times. He shook his head to clear his thoughts. _Focus._

Thankfully, the birds chose to ignore the lone man beneath the branches, singing a variety of songs that said there was no danger. He needed the cover. It was suicide to think that he could take on all these soldiers but Eragon was too far from the Varden to call for reinforcements. Neither did he want to leave them for another raiding team to finish off something he was more than capable of taking care of.

Besides, the Varden probably wasn't aware of the small army of men that stood practically on their doorstep.

Eragon had about forty arrows in his quiver. If he shot down about half that much, it wouldn't be too difficult to take out the rest at close range.

Providing they weren't the laughing dead.

Eragon shivered. At times like this, he wished Saphira was here with him.

Pulling his bow from his back, Eragon nocked an arrow and sighted it down toward one of the mages. His mind was closed off from any detection for the time but he didn't want to give them the chance to find him in the event he messed up. He doubted he would, but he wouldn't put it past Galbatorix to have possibly made this fight more difficult than it should be.

He breathed in slowly to morale himself then let the arrow fly free. The mage fell over with an arrow protruding from the other side of his head. Blood splattered the other man sitting next to him and he reached up to wipe at the blood on his cheek before he too fell, an arrow sticking out the side of his neck.

Three more men died before anyone else could blink, Eragon letting arrows loose in rapid-fire succession.

As he was about to fire his sixth arrow, all hell broke loose in the encampment. The men shouted at one another, calling out warnings while others strung their own bows and shot blindly into the forest.

They were aiming wrong. Eragon stayed crouched behind one of the bushes but he didn't stay long enough to give them time to find his position. He shot down a few more men while moving into different areas, throwing himself into a roll to avoid speculating shots.

At least they weren't the laughing dead. The men he'd shot down hadn't gotten back up. Then again, he had been aiming for their heads and Eragon was told decapitating was one of the solutions to stopping them. He just decided to do it in a less messy manner.

More than a few of the soldiers' arrows had narrow misses. One flew straight towards his eye, but he managed to sidestep at the last second and retaliate at the man whom had aimed for him unerringly. He also shot down those who tried to run in past the tree line.

Soon enough his arrows were more than depleted and Eragon pulled Brisingr out of its sheath next. The slim blade glinted prettily in the afternoon light that peeked through the leaves above.

Eragon let the dying words flow from his mouth at a few men that had found him and had ran towards him to cut him with their swords. They fell before him in a pile and the Rider morbidly mused that they gave a macabre impression of throwing themselves at his feet in surrender.

He barely dodged an arrow in time. The arrow hit with a '_thwunk!_' in the tree behind him. He paid it no mind, though, instead charging the men who fearlessly ran toward him.

He took no chances. He sliced vital points wherever he could, not giving the men a chance to revive should they be immune to the pain.

As he continued, Eragon felt the familiar rise of bloodlust in his throat, that thirsty feeling when red splashed on blue and dripped down his forearms. The Rider fought it down but he didn't miss the fear in some of the soldiers' eyes as they finally realized what they were up against.

Some ran, some decided that they would rather fight than turn tail and save their hides. Eragon would have admired their bravado had they not been committing suicide solely for the ideals of a madman.

When the last man fell, there was nowhere on his cloak that wasn't covered in blood or organ tissue. The smell of blood was strong in his nose and Eragon breathed in through his mouth to filter out the coppery scent. Of course, that also made it possible for him to _taste_ the thick, cloying air and the teen hurried to the edge of Leona Lake. He was at the far end of the expansive lake and he took the chance to rub some of the red from his skin and cloak, walking in at waist-deep.

A few of the soldiers had taken to the hills. Some had even run into the lake to swim across, but Eragon suppressed the urge to hunt them down. Besides, he doubted the ones who swam would make it very far before exhaustion caught up with them and all the ones on foot had been muttering nothing but 'demon' as they ran away. No one would take their insane blathering seriously.

Still, he shouldn't stick around. Cowards they may be but Eragon was in no mood to take on reinforcements—if they managed to get any. He would make himself scarce and continue on to Gil'ead.

Splashing water onto his face, he faced the sky and let out a breath. "You better thank me for this, Oromis."

* * *

It was dark, the moon ascending in the sky and tracing the ground a faint silver by the time he made it to Gil'ead.

The city of prison, of no return, it brought back memories as Eragon's iridescent eyes alighted upon the town nestled on the horizon for the second time.

Familiar barricades and balustrades stood above the tall wall structure entirely surrounding the city. Only this time, where Galbatorix's men used to patrol the outer gates there were now elves dressed in elegant armor as opposed to the dirty wardrobes and clumsy bows of its former inhabitants. An elven flag of green with a brown tree in the middle and a white swan enfolding its wings around it had taken the place of Galbatorix's golden flame and now it flapped gently in the wind at the top of the gate.

Islanzadí was already waiting at its entrance when he came running. No doubt she had been given word of his arrival beforehand.

As always, she was immaculately dressed, swan feathers bright white in contrast to the blood red cape pouring over her shoulders. Eragon looked at her hand where he'd last seen it covered up to the wrist in blood. The pale, slender digits were now clean but the blue Rider couldn't forget that she'd killed despite the gracefulness in her step, the angelic beauty of her narrow face.

Golden armor adorning her refined features, Islanzadí stepped forward to twist her palm on her chest as he slowed to a stop before her. "Welcome, Eragon Shurtugal. _Atra du evarínya ono varda_."

Surprised, Eragon could only stare, eyes wide in astonishment.

Someone cleared their throat and through stiff lips Eragon returned the formality, she in turn standing once more to give him an enigmatic smile as she finished off the last of the greeting.

"It has been a while, Eragon," she said, pleasantly. "I am sure you were told why you are here."

Eragon nodded, still shocked that she had been the one to initiate the polite gesture of the elves but still managed to keep a respectfully blank gaze under her scrutiny.

"Good." She turned. "Then if you would follow me. I would like to speak with you before we deal with matters at hand."

Eragon didn't allow his eyes to narrow in suspicion. He had a good guess as to what she wanted to 'discuss,' having had long enough on the road to Gil'ead to formulate some kind of an answer as to her personal summoning. Nonetheless, he nodded and followed beside her as they made their way through the town.

His eyes never stayed in one place.

They took in the barracks and blue smoke rising sluggishly toward the navy sky; the crudely built cabins and charred areas where fireplaces had burnt; obvious places of where the homeless recently abandoned. Countless weapons lay piled about, as if the elves had taken it upon themselves to preserve them should their owners returned. Though he doubted that'd be anytime soon.

There weren't any bodies. But of course, the elves would have already dealt with them by now.

Gil'ead had been the start of his great escape to the Varden and once more, nostalgia settled like a pebble in his gut.

Over in the distance, on that very incline was where he'd lay camp with Saphira and Murtagh waiting for Dormnad, the same place where he'd been captured by Urgals and then taken into custody by a Shade. The memory was so vivid… had it really been months since he'd last came here?

"How have you been, Eragon?" Islanzadí began once a substantial amount of silence had grown between them. Eragon noticed that they were alone. The guards had left them at the gate and the other elves busied themselves with some form of occupation. They glanced every once in a while in their direction but other than that allowed the two their privacy.

"Nothing I can't complain about," he responded, carefully keeping his eyes straight ahead even as he felt her gaze scrutinizing him. Eragon hadn't taken off the hood of his cloak from his head but a piece of his white-silver hair fluttered lazily outside of the blue barrier.

"And the Varden? How have they been treating you?"

"…fair enough."

"Are you sure? They haven't been treating you… _differently_ these recent weeks?"

Eragon furrowed his brows. "No different than they have before." It was… a half-truth. The Varden really treated him no differently than when he'd killed Durza. Awe, fear, respect—only this time there was no painful scar.

"And your transformation… they have taken it well?"

Ah. "As well as they can adjust to a Changeling in their midst?"

She laughed, the sound soft and tinkling and reminding him of Arya. "True. It is not every day that the dragons take it upon themselves to bless a human as one of their own. But really, Eragon, what I would like to know is if the Varden, or rather, the people of the Varden have accepted you."

Eragon avoided giving her a sidelong glance. So far his answers had been diplomatic at best but he couldn't help feel that Islanzadí was slowly picking up the little nuances that gave him away.

The reason why she'd wanted him here personally, why she'd wanted to speak with him—it was to try to convince him to stay with the elves. It was the only explanation he could come up with and while it would seem a bit more appropriate—what, with considering how the elves were more connected to magic and to the dragons—his home and family was with the Varden. He couldn't just abandon that.

"They accept that I am with the Varden. And that I will remain to protect them." There. That should keep her at length for a time. Already she was drawing away, Islanzadí managing to retain a straight face but he saw her jaw tighten as she clenched her teeth behind closed red lips.

Eragon refrained from smiling in satisfaction. He knew she wouldn't be kept at bay for long but for now, he continued to follow her to the prison located at the other side of the city.

Said prison in which held he and Arya still stood. Unbidden, Eragon was overcome with memories. The very building that Murtagh had rescued him from, it was ironic now how the tables had turned and it was Eragon who now came to decide upon his judgment.

Then, they had no idea that they were related. Now… Eragon didn't know what to feel. Betrayal? Murtagh left him in the Varden to become part of Galbatorix's insane ideals. Anger? It was Murtagh whom had killed Oromis and the reason why Glaedr was on the verge of madness. But of the other emotions? Hatred? Blame? Anticipation? Pity?

Eragon might have well been bound and blinded and told to return to Tronjheim without removing his shackles.

"Eragon." Islanzadí stopped before the large structure, her hand having rested on his shoulder before they went inside. He turned to give her his attention. "Please understand that I only say this out of concern. I truly do wish the best for your future. These are times where magical creatures must stay together in prosper. Especially up against Galbatorix."

Eragon stared at the hand on his shoulder. It had taken less time than he thought for her to regroup but Eragon couldn't help but feel she was being sincere this time. At least a little.

His brow furrowed and he placed his hand above hers. Despite the iciness of her royal features, Islanzadí's hand was warm to the touch, deceptively delicate. "I really appreciate your concern, Your Highness," he told her gently. He smiled gratefully up at her. "Really, it is more than I could deserve. But it is unnecessary. I am fine where I am. Besides, if I were to leave the Varden, who else would be able to protect them?"

She looked into his eyes for a minute more with forest-green eyes that reminded him of Arya before nodding and opening the door.

He knew she hadn't given up yet. However, for now, she also knew that she couldn't change his mind.

Yet.

Sighing, Eragon followed her.

There were two guards in front of the cell in which held Murtagh when they went inside. They both bore no emotions on their faces but their eyes did flicker when they fell on him. Queen Islanzadí walked up to them and spoke in tones too low and fast for even Eragon's sharp ears to perceive.

Without word, they slid fluidly to the side.

Islanzadí turned to Eragon. "You have an hour. The traitor should be awake by now, but try not to get your hopes up." With that, she swept out of the room, leaving him confused at her words.

He turned back to the door, suddenly hesitant. What did Islanzadí mean by that? Had she tortured the man? It wouldn't surprise him if she had.

…why should he care?

Reaching out, he pulled the bar up from the brackets and opened the door.

* * *

**Miso:** Well, crap that took longer than I expected… But it was good. Yes? No? D: Sorry for the long wait, guys! (also for the cliffie, keh keh) Was swamped with homework and applications that I've more or less given up on… Anyway, this chapter is my failed attempt at some politics and action. Long, too. Hoped you liked! :'D

Btw, did anyone recognize the sand on ink reference? It was in a book that was written by a certain female author... Points for the winner who can guess first! Of course there is also second place. 8D

And forgive my attempt at a fight scene in this chapter. It was poor and added at last minute, but that's what you get when you try to appease the crowd for a long wait! D: I doubted anyone was affected by the [lack of] gore. There wasn't much to get sick over. I've read worse; I've enjoyed worse. ;)

Next chapter will have some more action, but first! Eragon has a little chit chat with Murtagh! 8D

Please review!

Ja ne!


	3. Author Note

My laptop is dead, guys! That's why I haven't updated yet! I've already typed out about half of it, but I just wanted to let you know that it's gonna take a while before you guys think I've abandoned it (again).

Half because I've been looking for a job so I can buy a new laptop and the other half because I have to be going everywhere else to type and do all other stuff that I've fallen behind on.

Once again, just saying sorry and that I'm doing my best to get this chapter done. Might be near the opening of next semester. This chapter will be replaced once I get it done.

Also, I was thinking of redoing the first two chapters of this story. I've thought about it and thought that maybe it doesn't have to start that way. The way I see it, it's gonna bore people before they get to the real good parts, so I made the decision to rehash and replace but that won't be til I get further on in the story. I'll just be jumbling priorities if I do that now.

I've got a lot of notes. Hoping to put it to good use.

Tata! :)


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